Chapter 41 Liam
LIAM
Waking feels like clawing my way out of deep water.
The world returns in slow, throbbing waves, my ribs humming in dull protest, my spine stiff as stone, every inch of me unsure if it wants to move at all.
When my eyes finally pry open, I’m met not with panic or sterile light, but with the reassuring heaviness of Theo’s head rising and falling against my chest.
He is draped over me like a sleep-drunk cat, limbs tangled, mouth slack and leaking a thin trail of drool down my sternum.
I lie still, staring at him fondly despite the soreness gnawing at my body.
His breath warms my skin, his hair tickling my jawline each time he shifts.
If I didn’t feel like death reheated, I might have laughed already.
The IV bag hanging over me is empty, its plastic crinkled in on itself as though even it is tired. Whatever numbing mercy they pumped through me last night has worn off, leaving behind an ache that reminds me that yes, at one point recently, I was dead.
A soft sound pulls my attention sideways.
My sister is curled awkwardly in the chair beside the bed, slumped sideways with her chin propped on her fist to keep it from toppling forward.
She must have been bone-deep exhausted to fall asleep in that position.
Dark circles bruise her eyes; her cheeks look hollowed out by worry.
I want to call out to her, but something in her expression, even in sleep, stops me.
She’s earned those few more minutes of peace.
Theo stirs before she does. His head jerks up abruptly, nearly smacking my nose. His hand lands on my chest... right in the puddle of drool.
“Good morning,” I whisper, unable to help the small grin tugging at my lips.
He freezes. “Please tell me that isn’t mine.”
I let a laugh slip out, breathless and still a little ragged. “I’ve had worse bodily fluids on me apparently.”
He covers his face with a mortified groan, but the curve of his smile betrays him.
He shifts closer, careful of my injuries, and I lean toward him, drawn like a magnet finding its pair.
His mouth is warm when it meets mine, full of all the fear and relief neither of us has words for yet.
When he trails kisses across my jaw, soft and reverent, something inside me finally settles.
“You are my muse,” I murmur against his lips. The confession comes out easier than I expect. Maybe dying once gives a man perspective.
He relaxes into me, forehead grazing mine, and for a moment the world narrows to just us and the slow, steady rhythm of breathing side by side.
Then movement flickers at the edge of my vision.
Sebastian has appeared in the doorway, gaze sweeping the room until it lands on me. On us. His expression is unreadable before softening into something relieved, grateful even. But his attention shifts again, sliding past me toward the chair beside the bed.
Harper is no longer asleep.
She sits stiffly upright, eyes wide and locked on Sebastian’s approach.
There’s something tucked beneath her, the edge of a dark leather cover barely hidden under the cushion.
She presses it down hastily the moment she realizes he’s here.
Her gaze flicks to mine in a silent plea for me not to react.
I file that mystery away for later. Right now, Sebastian is already at my bedside, his hand coming down on my shoulder with a cautious gentleness I’m not used to seeing from him.
His freckles glow brighter under the sunlight flooding through the tall windows, and I’m struck by how strangely peaceful he looks considering everything that happened.
“You’re looking better,” he says, voice light but threaded with something that sounds dangerously close to relief he doesn’t want acknowledged.
“I’m getting there,” I answer, shifting slowly. The ache radiates, but the agony from earlier is now a dull echo. “Little by little.”
He steps back to give me room, and I begin swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, determined to prove to them, and to myself, that I’m here, alive, whole enough to stand.
Across from us, Sebastian crosses the small space to Harper, the tension in his jaw softening the moment he really looks at her. He tilts her chin up with two fingers, the gesture meant to be sweet, though something about it feels more like a question he’s too afraid to voice.
“My love,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone, “you could have come back to bed. That chair didn’t do you any favors.”
He eases her upright with an arm wrapped around her waist. Her shirt clings to her, wrinkled and thin, outlining ribs that hadn’t been so sharp a few weeks ago. She looks fragile in a way that unsettles me, like any touch might bruise.
“When’s the last time you ate, Harper?” I ask. Her gaze flicks to me and lingers. There’s something unspoken there, waiting, but she pushes past it.
“It’s been a while,” she says finally, voice small, the admission collapsing out of her like it costs something.
Sebastian presses a soft kiss to her forehead, the kind he uses to wordlessly apologize for things he never says aloud.
Theo rises with purpose, reaching out until his fingers find her arm and curl gently around it. “Come on,” he says, steady despite everything. “Let’s get you both something real to eat.”
He tests her weight against him, adjusting easily. “Liam wants to walk, and I’m not strong enough to hold him up,” he adds in Sebastian’s direction, “but her? That I can do.”
There’s a challenge buried in his tone, subtle but unmistakable. A boundary. Sebastian hears it; he doesn’t fight. Instead he kisses Harper, lingering longer than necessary, as if fearful she’ll vanish when he pulls away. Her answering smile is thin, brittle at the edges. It doesn’t touch her eyes.
“Go on,” I say, shifting to get my feet beneath me. “We’ll meet you when I’m not moving like I’m made of wet parchment.”
A groan escapes me as my weight settles through my legs, but I don’t miss the movement beside Harper’s chair, a sliver of black leather peeking from beneath the cushion.
She sees me notice and, with the laziest casualness I’ve ever witnessed from her, nudges it deeper into hiding.
Too deliberate to be accidental. I pretend not to see, the unspoken agreement holding between us: she’ll tell me when she’s ready.
Sebastian loops my arm over his shoulder and helps me toward the hall. Once we’re clear of the ward, he exhales hard, scraping a hand through his hair until it sticks out messily.
“Is Harper okay?” I ask, adjusting my pace to match his.
He scoffs, frustration knotting itself in his voice. “She’s been off ever since Ares showed up. It’s like she’s constantly bracing for something, around everyone.” His grip on me tightens. “I hate watching her like that.”
I bite back the instinct to defend her or Ares. “Me nearly dying might have something to do with it,” I say instead, a touch sharper than I intend.
Sebastian’s shoulders drop a fraction. “I know, Liam. I know. I’m sorry.” He sighs, the exhaustion bleeding through the breath. “There’s just… a lot happening with Anne. And I’m not handling any of this the way I want to.” His voice lowers. “And then he shows up. Doesn’t it feel strange to you?”
“Everything feels strange,” I reply honestly. “You resurrect a man once, maybe it’s fate. Twice? At that point I think the universe is laughing at us.”
That draws a real smile from him. Small, but real.
“Maybe I should take a page out of your book,” he says. “Live in the chaos instead of fighting it.”
We step into the main corridor, sunlight scattering across the polished floor. Both of our stomachs let out equally pathetic growls, as though in synchronized protest of being ignored for far too long.
“Well,” I say, straightening my posture with mild triumph, “seems our bodies have decided for us.”
Sebastian chuckles, guiding us toward the dining hall and, finally, breakfast.
HARPER
Theo and I stop in the common room long enough for me to change into something less flimsy.
Every movement sends a faint throb through my bruises.
My side still burns from the poacher’s blade, and the cauterized skin pulls uncomfortably each time I breathe.
I peel off my old shirt and pull on a fitted black undershirt that clings just enough to remind me I’m still alive.
Then grey trousers, soft at the seams, and finally a sweater that settles across my shoulders like a heavy exhale.
When I tie my hair back, my reflection in the mirror catches me off guard.
Hollow eyes. Bruised cheekbones. A tension around my mouth that never seems to fade.
Those drawings, Ares’s drawings, were wishful thinking, illustrations of someone calmer, fuller, softer than the fractured thing staring back at me.
He’s delusional if he thinks I look anything like that.
I push the thought away and hook my arm through Theo’s as we head for the exit. He bumps my hip like he’s trying to coax me back into the world.
“You hungry?” he asks, reaching out to poke my rib cage in a teasing jab.
His finger meets bone, actual bone, and he recoils instantly, horrified. “I didn’t think I’d actually feel it.”
A small, reluctant smile breaks across my face. “I don’t think anyone thought they would.”
We walk toward the dining hall, the warm scent of pastries thickening the air with every step. By the time we push open the doors, the aroma is so intoxicating my stomach twists in anticipation.
Inside, Liam is devouring everything in sight. Literally. There’s a half-demolished pile of food in front of him, and Sebastian sits beside him looking equal parts amused and terrified. Liam waves at us with the enthusiasm of someone who has never once known embarrassment.
I lean toward Theo. “Your boy is inhaling every edible object. I’m pretty sure he ate Sebastian’s plate.”
Theo tries to remain unimpressed but fails miserably. “He did say he was hungry. Guess all that dainty eating in front of me didn’t stick.”
“Not when he hasn’t eaten since yesterday,” Sebastian says, scooting over to make space for us. “He nearly took my hand off trying to steal a roll.”
I ease down beside him, letting my shoulder touch his lightly. The warmth radiating from his body settles my shaking nerves for the first time today. Liam, meanwhile, is searching the table for more food like a starved wolf.
“Hungry?” Theo asks Liam, careful to keep a respectful distance.
“No one tells you dying makes you feel like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Liam mutters, cheeks going red.
Theo laughs under his breath, and for a moment the world feels almost normal.
Sebastian slides a muffin in front of me like it’s sacred. “I grabbed this before Liam inhaled it.”
Before I can thank him, his sleeve shifts, revealing a flash of red, an ugly lesion tearing up the back of his arm. He moves too fast to cover it, but not fast enough for me to miss it. My hand catches his wrist gently but firmly, pushing the fabric up so I can see the full wound.
It’s long. Deep. And absolutely not “nothing.”
“What happened?” My voice is quiet, but the weight behind it isn’t.
He tries to brush it off, avoiding my eyes. “It’s nothing. Eat. You need to.”
He tears a piece off the muffin and lifts it to my lips, and even though frustration coils hot and tight in my chest, I let him feed it to me. His smile is soft, but his eyes flicker with something he’s trying hard to hide.
“Seb, seriously… what happened?” I press again, my voice lower this time as I swallow another warm bite of muffin. The taste is heavenly, but my mouth floods with saliva from hunger I didn’t even realize I’d been denying myself.
He keeps his gaze pinned on literally everything except me. “Some man didn’t see where he was going and ran into me. I scraped my arm on one of the stone walls outside. I took some herbs from Poppy...helps with the sting. It’s nothing.”
He says it so flatly it almost sounds rehearsed.
I reach for his chin before he can look away again, fingers curling along the sharp line of his jaw.
His skin is warm under my touch, tense at first, then slowly relaxing as he lets his gaze drift toward mine.
His eyes dart, like he’s searching for a safe answer before finally settling on my face fully.
“You promise me?” The words fall quieter than I intend, a fragile thread laid between us.
His expression softens into that familiar crooked smile, the one that always tries so hard to reassure me. He leans in and brushes a gentle kiss over my lips, then deepens it just enough to make my pulse skip.
“I promise, Harper,” he murmurs against my mouth.
Before I can respond, Liam’s voice slices through the moment. “Are you going to finish that, or should I put you out of your misery?”
Theo groans dramatically, slapping a hand over his own face. “Liam, she’s eating. Let her be.”
“Yes, she is finishing it,” Sebastian answers for me with a pointed laugh, pressing the muffin back into my hands like he’s defending precious treasure.
Liam cackles, Theo tries to quiet him, and the tension in the space loosens just enough for us all to breathe again. Sebastian shifts beside me, laughing along with them, and in the motion his sleeve inches farther down his wrist, hiding the wound completely.
He talks animatedly with Liam, shoulder nudging his, grin easy and natural. It should put me at ease.
It doesn’t.
The sight of that lesion, deep and raw, still throbs in the back of my mind, far too deliberate of an injury to be the result of someone “running into him.” His smile is genuine, but something in the set of his shoulders, the way he avoids my eyes when the subject veers too close, tells a different story.
He’s lying.
Not to hurt me, but to protect me from something he doesn’t want me to see.
And for the first time since the forest, a cold, slithering worry coils low in my stomach.
Something happened to him.
Something he’s hiding.
And whatever it is… didn’t come from clumsy strangers or stone walls.